


sweetness, golden lungs

by ironcouer



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-06-06 06:52:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6743932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironcouer/pseuds/ironcouer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>seungkwan is a terrible cook. seokmin isn't much better. it always works out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sweetness, golden lungs

Seokmin finds Seungkwan on the curb at 9:30 pm, the fire truck wailing outside of the apartment, while Seungkwan flips his phone in the air.

“I thought you were working late,” Seungkwan pouts. Seokmin figures he had really been banking on him not finding out about this.

“I thought we agreed no more cooking and burning the apartment down.”

Seungkwan takes a beat. “That’s fair.”

Seokmin smiles and sits down next to Seungkwan, throwing an arm around his shoulder and sidling next to him. Seungkwan automatically curves into him. Seungkwan is always very warm. He radiates heat like an energy source.

“You’re toasty,” Seokmin laughs, pulling him as close as he can.

Seungkwan scoffs. “Yeah, well, you know,” he motions towards the apartment with his free hand. “Fire.”

*

Everything in the apartment, Seokmin knows, feels worn. He wouldn’t exactly say aged, because aged comes with the connotation that its age could be calculated, and he doesn’t think either he or Seungkwan was alive for when this couch was new.

Seungkwan pulls the popcorn out of the microwave and settles into a pre-made dip in the couch.

“Is that your dinner?” Seokmin asks, eying the burnt kernels at the edges of the bag. Seungkwan tucks it further under his arm, out of reach, and makes a face at him. “Some of us put our lives in danger to make food, thank you very much, so excuse me if I settle for a safer option.”

Seokmin hops up. “I can make you something.”

Seungkwan glances up. “Are you sure? You can’t fucking cook, either.”

Seokmin smiles. “But I can try,” he says, settling a kiss on Seungkwan’s forehead and getting the dry spaghetti noodles out of the cabinet.

*

He burns the spaghetti (quite irreparably, actually. He’s not quite sure how it happens).

Seungkwan walks by the kitchen to keep an eye on his progress, smells the disaster first, then collapses in a fit of laughter against Seokmin’s chest. Seokmin holds Seungkwan, mostly to keep him from falling, but just because he likes to hold him close, as well.

“Let’s just go get pizza,” Seungkwan says, throwing on his coat, still shaking from laughter.

“I can fix this!” Seokmin insists, scraping the brownish black noodles, his spatula making little to no headway against the pan.

Seungkwan scoffs. “I’ll treat, just put your coat on, Seokmin.”

Seokmin abandons the noodles, filling the pan with water, and walks out the door with his keys in one hand and Seungkwan’s hand in his other.

*

Their favorite pizza place is worn and comfortable. The waiter knows them by name, knows their order, knows that Seokmin likes his half of the pizza, sausage and pineapple, cut into wide slices, while Seungkwan’s half, cheese and extra pepperoni, a full layer of grated mozzarella covering any toppings underneath, sliced into small squares.

They’re comfortably silent for a moment.

“I’m sorry for burning the spaghetti,” Seokmin says, and Seungkwan shoves him without any malice.

“Shut up, at least you didn’t burn down the house.”

Seokmin quirks his eyebrows. “True, I’m not _that_ bad a cook, at least.”

Seungkwan throws his napkin at him.

*

There is something worn and comfortable about Seungkwan. Seokmin first met him when he walked into his vocal studio, when he books his first lesson and Seokmin realizes, holy shit, there’s nothing he can teach this boy.

“What are you even doing here,” he asks, and Seokmin just laughs. “I heard you were the best vocal coach in the area.”

Seokmin purses his lips. “Well that’s not even a little true, but—even if it was—you’re singing at a professional level. Where’d you go to school?”

Seungkwan launched into his training in Korea, his move to New York, dropping his dream, and somehow picking it up after years of loss. He thought his vocal chords had lost everything he’d ever taught them.

“You didn’t teach them anything,” Seokmin says in awe. Seokmin and Seungkwan are seated at either end of the piano bench, and Seungkwan plays with the hem of his shirt. “That’s talent, it’s natural. You can’t lose that.”

Seungkwan smiles. “Are you flirting with me?”

Seokmin shakes his head. “I’m just being serious, you know. I can’t help you with anything. There’s another vocal trainer that…” Seokmin trails off looking for the contacts in his phone, the click of the scroll echoing in the empty room.

“But would you?”

Seokmin doesn’t look up, just keeps scrolling for a name that isn’t in his contacts but he swears is. “Would I what?”

“Would you flirt with me? You know, if I wasn’t a potential student or something.”

Seokmin’s head jerks up. “Would you want me to flirt with you?”

Seungkwan laughs loudly, and Seokmin’s eyes become two upside downs smiles. He likes his laugh a lot.

“Just go on a date with me, please.”

Seokmin grins. “Okay. But you’re not my student, so nothing kinky.”

Seungkwan lifts his eyebrows up and Seokmin starts a long love affair with the way Seungkwan sounds when he makes him laugh. It’s a specific niche laugh, one that doesn’t try too hard, a little grating, but perfect.

It changes in the years after. It doesn’t try to please as much, gets a lot louder, and makes Seokmin breathless, still.

It doesn’t change after Seungkwan moves in with him, after he agrees to take on a few training gigs with Seokmin, after he becomes a mainstay in Seokmin’s life. The world shifts, but Seungkwan remains his magnetic needle pointing north.

*

Seungkwan climbs into bed after a shower, and Seokmin shifts to play with his hair, to rub the damp strands in between his fingers. Seungkwan cuddles in closer, uses Seokmin’s shoulder to rest on while he plays with his phone.

“Hey, what are you doing tomorrow,” Seungkwan asks.

Seokmin sighs. “Work. I was thinking about going into the studio early and getting paperwork done.”

Seungkwan shakes his head. “Leave the paperwork for Monday. Call in sick, let’s stay in bed all day.”

Seokmin smiles and turns to face Seungkwan, strokes his cheek with his thumb.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I don’t have clients tomorrow, and neither do you. Let’s be lazy.”

Seokmin feels something well up in him. Seungkwan’s loose tshirt hangs from his shoulders, and his cheeks are red from his shower. He smells like that sea breeze lotion Seokmin bought him a while back that never seems to run out, and he looks content and beautiful against the bed.

Seokmin leans forward and kisses his eyelids, his cheeks, his nose, his left temple.

“Will you just get to my lips already,” Seungkwan mumbles, and Seokmin laughs and pulls him in, brushes his lips gently against Seungkwan’s. His hands are on his waist, and Seokmin’s own heartbeat gentle in his chest, a soft drumbeat that grounds him to the way he loves Seungkwan’s presence in his hands.

They kiss slowly. These kisses are Seokmin’s favorite. Seungkwan’s a little sleepy and unrushed, there’s no need to do or be anything, and when Seungkwan’s tongue swipes at Seokmin’s teeth, Seokmin goes along with everything Seungkwan does.

Seokmin ducks his head and kisses Seungkwan’s neck gently, his hand resting on his chest, feeling the heat rise through the thin fabric.

“You’re sleepy,” Seokmin says, and Seungkwan barely nods before his eyes threaten to close.

Seokmin presses one last kiss to his lips before he drifts away. “Remember, Seok, no work tomorrow. You’re mine all day, okay?”

Seokmin laughs and presses his head into the pillows, finding Seungkwan’s hand and encasing Seungkwan’s fingers between his own.

“I’m always yours.”

Seungkwan rolls his eyes. “You’re so gross.”

Seokmin turns off the light of the nightstand, and Seungkwan shuffles in bed to press against him and pulls Seokmins arm across his chest, like a safety belt.

Seokmin feels happy and there’s a taste in his chest of _right_ of _good_ of _home_ and he drowns in it, enveloped in it, and when he hears Seungkwan mumble a sleepy _love you_ , everything increases by tenfold.

It’s good.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! please leave any and all feedback/criticism, i love every comment, and i love u for reading this


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